


Some Nights

by truthtakestime



Category: White Collar
Genre: "Wanted" tag, Gen, James Maine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-23
Updated: 2012-07-23
Packaged: 2017-11-10 13:01:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/466587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truthtakestime/pseuds/truthtakestime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Maine, on the outside, is the perfect man; but he's only on the surface. And he is a much harder character to adjust to than that of Neal Caffrey...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Nights

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: White Collar and all of its characters, locations, etc. belong to their respective owners; I'm just borrowing. No copyright infringement intended!! 
> 
> Note: This little snippet started off from the prompt “golden”, which turned into “sun-soaked”, and moved smoothly into taking a spin with the theory that “Neal Caffrey” is just another alias (which is seeming more and more likely).

Neal dreamed of the city. 

There was a logical part of him that insisted he was frivilous to indulge such useless dreams. He was living in _paradise_ , it reminded him; with white sandy beaches, beautiful women, endless wealth, and one of his best friends. One of Neal's first friends. He could watch the sun rise from the edge of the crystal clear water, or the floor-to-ceiling windows in his bedroom, or from the bell tower of the local church, which sat on a hill near the edge of town. 

There was no reason, logic told him firmly, to be closing his eyes at night and pining to see the sun-soaked city sprawled outside of his bedroom window back home. Bursting with energy and life and possibility. 

But it was a lonely existence, on his island. Even though he knew (logically) that he should not be wishing for a life fully gone, he found himself dissatisfied (not completely, but enough) with endless beaches and an ocean that stretched beyond the horizon. Island life, while pleasant and relaxed, was a prison in itself, and the ball and chain anchoring him to his haven were every bit as restricting as his anklet had been. And strong island coffee, while served by a beauty, was not nearly as warm and rich as coffee on the terrace with June in the mornings. Night strolls were not as fulfilling on empty beaches as they were on city sidewalks, scounting or conning on behalf of the FBI. 

Then, there was the issue of the name. While Neal prided himself on being able to slip into characters and shed them just as quickly, he was finding it much more difficult to become James Maine than it had been to be Nick Halden or Steve Tabernacle, or even Neal Caffrey. 

Of all the roles he'd had the opportunity to play in his life, that one was his favorite. It was the one that felt the most real to him, certainly; if he could choose one man to play forever, he knew it would have to be Caffrey. James was a fine character, good for a charade now and again; but he wasn't _Neal_. He could never really become that man. He would just be an actor playing a part.

To the eyes of an outsider, “James Maine” had it all. Perfect looks, house, friends, hats, skills, life. You had but to name it, and James had it.

But he was in the unique position of being able to look inside and outside of himself, and he could see the truth (that word still tasted funny). He was nothing but a puppet, an empty shell playing the part of a prince. He was nothing without the city (and people) who had made him. 

Made Neal.


End file.
